Delia Prance's Arc

Chapter 9 of 59

The last patient left at dusk. Delia stood in her empty field, arms sore, hands raw. The benches sat quiet. The cloth roof stirred in the wind. For the first time in weeks, no one waited for her. She walked back to the cottage and found Nick on the step. "You didn't stop all day," he said. He held two cups of tea he'd made from her stove. "Sit. The field can wait one night." Delia took the cup and sat beside him. The river ran low and steady past the flowers along the wall. She had not sat still since the crowd first came. "I keep thinking of the ones I couldn't reach fast enough," she said. "The garden isn't done. It's barely begun." "It will get done." Nick set his cup on the stone. "You built this from weeds and a book you traded away. Give yourself the night." He reached into his coat and pulled out something small. A silver bracelet, set with pink hearts. He turned it in his fingers, not quite looking at her. "I saw it at market. It made no sense for a healer with dirt under her nails." He held it out. "I bought it anyway." Delia laughed, surprised. She had not seen him uncertain before. He always spoke plainly and moved on. Now he waited, the bracelet in his open hand. She held out her wrist. He fastened it, his fingers careful against her skin. "You give everything away," he said. "Your book. Your kettle. Your whole day. I wanted you to keep one thing that's only yours." She looked at him then, really looked. The prince who ordered lumber for her benches. Who stood against his own father to sign her this field. Who now sat on her step at dusk, afraid of a bracelet. "Nick," she said. She set down her cup. She leaned in and kissed him. He went still, then pulled her close. The cups sat forgotten. The river kept moving past the door she'd left open behind them. She led him inside, and for once the cottage held no patients, only the two of them. Morning came soft through the window. Delia woke against his shoulder, the bracelet still on her wrist. Nick slept. She watched his face without the weight it carried in daylight. Then she heard hooves on the path. She rose and looked out. A rider in palace colors dismounted at the field's edge. Not a patient. He carried a sealed letter and searched the benches, the cottage, the empty rows. Looking for someone. Looking for Nick. Delia's chest tightened. Nick had crossed the king to give her this land. Now a royal messenger stood in her field at dawn, and whatever the letter held, it had followed him here. The quiet was over. She reached for her dress and woke him.